He's Still Alive
by Insanity Studios Ink
Summary: Hiccup's father abuses him. What shall he do? This is a prequel to He's Not Dead. This story is rated T for child abuse and character death.


_Okay folks! I had a request for Hiccup's point of view, so I wrote this a while ago and started typing it up. I then proceeded to forget about it, and I found it yesterday while re-doing_ _The Andersons_ _. My apologies to the poor readers who wanted this part of it. Rated teen for character death and child abuse scenes._

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He's Still Alive

I heard the front door creak as it opened. Maybe he wouldn't be mad anymore. Maybe he would love me as a father should. The door slammed with a resounding thwack, like the blade of a guillotine. No, he was still mad; and judging by the uncertainty of his stumbling steps, he was drunk too. He'd been drinking a lot since Mom died, and would often beat me afterward.

"Dinner's on the table." I said, fear making my voice quiver. "It's still warm." Dad walked right by me, not speaking or looking at me. Good, he's ignoring me. No beatings tonight. I slowly make my way to the stairs, and quietly climbed up them. No need to make Dad any madder than he was.

In my room, I sat on my bed, facing my desk with all my homework. It sat there, waiting to be finished. I sat up to reach for it, and winced. My neck hurt. A lot. I felt it, and grimaced; pain that coursed through it at the slight touch. Dad had thrown me against the stairs. There was a massive bruise there, and possibly a cut. I'm glad it wasn't a laceration, like the one on my arm from last week. Those were harder to make excuses for. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and pulled my homework toward me, wincing as the coarse fabric of my shirt disturbed my bruises.

I carefully roll up my sleeves to reveal arms covered in blue and black bruises. Some are the size of pennies, some that cover half my arm, most overlapping each other. Each one throbs with my heartbeat, a constant reminder that my dad loves me. Each and every bruise is a mark of my father's love. They come faster than they fade, so I have to be careful. I don't need any more questions.

The phone rings. I pick it up quickly so Dad doesn't notice. Answering with a cheery hello, I try to figure out who would be calling someone like me. "Hiccup!" It's Astrid. "We were worried when you didn't show up for school. What happened?" Of course. She'd want to know what happened to me. "I'm fine. I was just sick." A lie. I was actually too beaten to move from the corner Dad left me in the other day. Lies come easily now; I use them often.

"I hope you are feeling better." Astrid's voice brings me back from my musings. "Yeah, I'm just peachy now." I say sarcastically. I can practically see the smile fade off her face. "Hiccup, what's wrong?" She asked. "Nothing. I'm fine." I said, my voice neutral. "I need help on my math." She said matter-of-factly. "Come over to my house please." She really just wanted to talk, and probably had her math done.

I changed into some clothes that covered my bruises better, and headed down the street to her house. Thankfully she didn't live far. I knocked on her door, and heard her running down the stairs. She flung open the door, and hugged my with such ferocity I staggered. Astrid clung to me, and I just hugged her back.

She let me go, and looked me in the eye. "Is everything all right?" she asked. I closed my eyes, and looked down. I could tell that my denial was about as effective as telling her I was an astronaut. "Mom's sleeping." she said. "You'll have to come upstairs." She almost dragged me to her room; so fast I tripped on the stairs.

Astrid went into her room, and I followed suit. Entering her room, I could smell her perfume and hear her computer humming. She plunked her math book on her desk, making it emit a loud slapping noise. It sounded like the front door slamming, like my father. I flinched, and rubbed my arm. Astrid pretended to be busy finding a page, but I could see her eyes following his every move. Nothing escaped her notice, not when it came to me being hurt.

"Hiccup, what's wrong?" she said, motioning for me to sit on her bed. "Nothing." I replied, sitting on her blanket. It felt soft under my hand. "I'm just tired." She flopped on the bed, making both of us bounce. She looked at me; I knew she could see right through me. "Hiccup, you are a terrible liar." she said, sitting up and crossing her arms. I gave her a blank look. Maybe she'd stop asking questions if I played dumb.

She raised her eyebrows. Oh bother, she was getting her "stop being stupid before I punch you" look. I'd have to think of a really good excuse to placate her. "I'm just really stressed about the science fair." Not a complete lie. I had this premonition I wouldn't be presenting, even though I was done and it was in two days. "I'm sure you'll do well." she said, laying a hand over mine. I flipped my hand over, and held hers.

"At any rate, you'll do better than me. Mine blew up in my face. Literally." I was surprised. "You blew something up?" I asked. "Yeah, my idea of mixing random household chemicals until it blew up worked a little too well." I stared, dumbfounded. She sighed, and led me to the bathroom upstairs. The door was almost off its hinges, the mirror splayed shattered glass all over the sink. The toilet was cracked, and the ceiling had a large hole in it. Everything was covered in a dusting of green ash, presumably from the chemicals.

Back in her room, she explained that she was getting more baking soda when it happened. "The whole house shook, and Mom swore in three different languages!" she said. Then her face fell. "Well, there goes that idea." she said in a bored voice. "Along with half the bathroom." I raised my eyebrows. "Half? More like three-quarters to all of it!"

She smiled, and punched my arm lightly. I gasped. Pain shot up and down my arm. I closed my eyes, tears threatening to squeeze their way through. She had hit the cut from the steak knife. By the feel of it, it had opened up again. She took one look at me, and yanked my other sleeve up. Bruises and scars are revealed as my covering disappeared; my hideously battered arm rests on Astrid's bed.

Astrid does nothing, says nothing. All she can do is stare at the multitude of bruises. I just stare at her, wondering why she'd do that. The stunned moment stops when I realize that the blood from my arm is about to drip onto her bed. I jump up and run to the other bathroom to clean up my arm.

When I returned, she was still sitting on the bed. I sit back down, and she leans on my shoulder, her eyes closed. A tear drips silently into her lap, then another. I hold her, unsure of what else to do. "This shouldn't be happening." She whispers to me, so softly I almost don't hear her. I nod.

Astrid looks up at my face, eyes wet. "We need to do something." She says. I know, but what to do? I love my father anyways, and could never live with myself if he went to jail. I do need to do something, but what?

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I got home a half an hour later, it turned out that Astrid had needed help on her homework. But she had also firmly told me that if I didn't do something, and fast, she would call the police. I'd have to try and talk to Dad tonight.

I opened the front door, listening as it emitted that ominous squeak. Dad was sitting at the table, and I automatically knew something was wrong. "Dad-" I began, but he cut me off. "BOY, WHERE'S MY FOOD?!" he bellowed at me, his face turning red. "I...I wasn't home." I said, cowering before my father's anger.

Dad's hand flies toward my face, knocking me down as it makes contact. "All I expect from you is do as I tell you, but you can't even do that!" The ugly words hurt, but not as much as the foot he's slamming into my ribs. I hear a few break; snap, snap, snap. Pain erupted in my chest, and tears were pouring down my face now. "You're crying?!" he shouted at me. "You – are – weak!" He emphasized each word with a kick to my stomach, and my abdomen flared in agony. I screamed in pain, but my voice had no effect on him.

He gave me one last disgusted look, and spat on me. He left, slamming the door with a bang. I lay on the kitchen floor, the tears that flowed down my face mixing with the growing pool of blood surrounding my body. I could vaguely hear someone knocking on the door, and I tried to get up to answer it. I collapsed, everything fading away...

There was a smash of glass, and a strange face swam into my vision; he was talking to me. "Hang in there kid! They're on their way..." He was talking on a phone, but everything was fuzzy. My eyes were closing of their own accord...

A loud wailing pierced my ears, flashing lights were everywhere. I was being lifted, placed on a soft bed. Doors slammed, and I felt the swaying of a moving car. People in blue uniforms yelled at each other; one placed a plastic dome over my face. "You'll be fine, just breath, just breath..." She told me. Breathing was hard, I closed my eyes again. The sounds faded, and everything went black.

I could see Mom. "Mom!" I cried. She turned, and hugged me. Mom took my hand, and lead me onward...

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THE END

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 _That's it. I hope you had to go for the tissues, i sure had to! Anywho, please review, I love every bit of feedback I get. Don't be afraid to critisize, and please do tel me if I made any mistakes. That's all for now._

 _~Yours in Destiny, Joan McCreedy_


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